


Twenty Sherlolly Prompts - Brotherly Advice

by MizJoely



Series: Twenty Sherlolly Prompts [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Even if Molly's only sort of in the story, Sherlolly - Freeform, The Holmes brothers sorting things out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2119257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>rooroomc on tumblr said: Sherlolly (no higher than T, please!) where Sherlock has to explain to Mycroft his recent engagement to the pathologist in question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Sherlolly Prompts - Brotherly Advice

Mycroft knew they were living together, of course; Mycroft tended to know most important details regarding his brother’s life. However, he had no idea things had progressed so rapidly..and in so disappointingly mundane a direction. Some days he truly understood James Moriarty’s frustration with Sherlock, those times when he would do something so utterly boring and banal.

Such as falling in love. True, if Sherlock was to fall in love with anyone, Molly Hooper was probably the logical choice. Not just because she was a constant in his brother’s life with surprising steel in her spine and a steadiness of character that helped her both in the morgue and in life in general. Not just because the two of them were somewhat compatible when it came to solving crimes and performing experiments. And certainly not just because she was and apparently always would be in love with Sherlock no matter what other emotional entanglements she allowed herself.

Simply put, it was all of those things together, along with what Mycroft gathered others would consider her friendly personality and self-deprecating sense of humor and her prettiness. An attractive enough package, he supposed, and certainly one that seemed tailor-made to appeal to his brother, but still, a disappointment. Sentiment was tripe and caring wasn’t an advantage and when would Sherlock realize the truth of those words?

Not, it would seem, today. Mycroft listened, utterly flabbergasted, as Sherlock calmly announced his engagement – _engagement!_ – to Molly Hooper.

When Sherlock finished speaking, he leaned back in his chair. Mycroft studied his younger brother as intensely as he was being studied in return, and slowly raised an eyebrow. “Engaged. To be married. You.” He put as much polite disbelief into that last word as he could manage – and years of experience had honed his ‘polite disbelief’ voice into a weapon capable of felling a man at fifty paces, as his PA had once expressed it. A tad melodramatic, but he found a quiet pride in the aptness of the description nonetheless.

“Yes, brother dear, engaged. To be married. _Me_ ,” Sherlock replied, his own weight of sarcasm nearly as deadly. And his own eyebrow equally raised. “To Molly Hooper, in case you wished to express polite disbelief over my choice of life companion as well.”

Ah, that deadliness wasn’t merely metaphorical; Mycroft knew he needed to tread very, very carefully from this point on, else risk alienating his little brother permanently. And over Molly Hooper, an ordinary woman with a few trifling qualities that some might consider – and Sherlock clearly did – a step above ordinary. It still mystified Mycroft as to why those qualities so enthralled his brother, but it would be best not to phrase that particular question aloud.

Instead, he simply asked, “Sherlock, haven’t I told you before that caring is not an advantage?” 

“Yes, but what you neglected to remember is that loving most definitely is. What’s more, it’s an advantage I’ve long been missing in my life,” Sherlock replied instantly. “For most of my life I’ve attempted to emulate your ability to distance yourself from the hordes of humanity, and for most of my life I needed to do that,” he continued, leaning forward in his seat and gazing at Mycroft with an intensity that spoke of his absolute belief in his own words. “It helped, when I realized how very different you and I were from just about everyone else. It helped when I could barely stand to be within my own mind – well, that and the drugs,” he added with a shrug. “Then the work came along and I thought that, combined with pretending – yes, _pretending_ – to myself and everyone else that I was a sociopath would be enough. But then John Watson came along and made me realize just how…lonely…I was.”

“Yes, and then you discovered friendship, and now you think you’ve discovered love,” Mycroft interjected, unable to remain silent in the face of such distasteful amounts of emotion being waved under his nose. By Sherlock, of all people, who really should know better! “But think about this before you make any sort of permanent commitment to this woman, Sherlock; how long before you grow bored with the experiment of domesticity? Is that fair to Miss Hooper?

Sherlock did something that actually dumfounded his brother; instead of going on the attack, he relaxed, leaned back in his chair, threw back his head and laughed. Laughed! As if Mycroft had told the most humorous joke ever!

Offended and fuming, Mycroft waited for his brother’s sudden attack of hilarity to pass, then waited for the inevitable explanation. Which, for once, he refused to deduce, dreading the answer.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock said when the laughter finally trailed off, “I haven’t grown bored with Molly Hooper in seven years. What makes you think marrying her will bring an end to that incredible streak? _Seven years_ , Mycroft,” he reiterated. “That’s how long I’ve known her and that’s how long she’s been defying my expectations. And once we have children…”

“Children?” Mycroft was actually shocked by how easily his brother spoke of such a thing, the one thing he thought they’d both absolutely agreed upon. “You intend to have…children? As in more than one child?”

Sherlock nodded, a smirk on his lips as he crossed his legs and leaned his head on one fisted hand. “Yes, children. At least two, possibly three. And they’ll be brilliant, I’ve no doubt about that. Once a child enters the equation, the chances of boredom become close to nil, in my estimation.”

“Children,” Mycroft repeated faintly, still attempting to wrap his head around the concept of his baby brother as a father. “You’ll…you’ll have to give up the flat,” he said, grasping at the first straw that came to mind. He resented being put on the back foot like this, resented it savagely, but could tell that Sherlock was actively enjoying his discomfiture.

Sherlock shrugged. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I’ll keep it for cases and move to the country. Buy a place in Sussex and keep bees. You know I’ve always been interested in bees,” he added with another smirk.

Mycroft slowly shook his head. This conversation hadn’t gone nearly as well as he’d hoped it would when he’d come to Sherlock’s flat in response to his brother’s unprecedented summons. He’d expected to be told that another nemesis had resurfaced, a request for protection for Molly and the Watsons and Mrs. Hudson, but this…! He had no words. None. He silently rose to his feet, gathered up his umbrella, and headed for the door. He could practically feel his brothers combined amusement and disappointment rolling off him in waves, but felt unequal to the task of offering congratulations on what he viewed as a disaster in the making.

He stopped in front of the door, however, as he pictured his mother’s disappointment in him at his behavior. How disappointed she would be…and that, he found, he could not stomach. He turned and thrust his hand in Sherlock’s direction. “I wish you the best of luck,” he managed with a small, tight smile.

Once again his brother surprised and disconcerted him, by lunging to his feet and pulling Mycroft into a close hug. “Thank you, Mycroft,” he said, then released his startled sibling, whose own arms had automatically curled up and around Sherlock’s shoulders in an awkward embrace. 

“I hope you find your own goldfish one day,” Sherlock called after him as he exited the flat. “It’s amazing how interesting they can be when you choose to study them a bit closer.”

Mycroft paused at the top of the stairs, turned, gave a half-nod, then continued on his way.

Sherlock had certainly given him a great deal to think about today.


End file.
